


Wine and Questions

by B1nary_S0lo



Series: Avenie Caron [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Implied Past Nathaniel/Female Warden, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Pre-Dragon Age II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:39:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5726659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B1nary_S0lo/pseuds/B1nary_S0lo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders drops by the Warden Commander's office to say goodbye, and to ask her advice on a matter of some importance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wine and Questions

Anders found the Warden Commander in her office that evening. When he entered she was seated at her desk, staring so intently at some paperwork she might’ve been planning to kill it, not sign it. He coughed lightly to get her attention. A grin spread across her face when she saw who it was. She gestured for him to sit.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you about knocking?” she said.

“People have mentioned it to me, yes,” he said. He took a seat in the chair across from her. “But you know me. Always living dangerously.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” she said. She laid the paper she’d been reading down and stood up, crossing over to the wooden cabinet that stood against the far wall. She opened it and he heard clinking. She emerged a second later with wine and two glasses. She always seemed to have a bottle handy. It was one of the few stereotypically Orlesian things about her, aside from her accent.

She placed the bottle and the glasses on the table.

“My mother and father sent this from home,” she said, uncorking the bottle. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

“This counts as a special occasion?” he said. “I’m touched.”

She poured him some wine and handed him the glass.

“Of course,” she said. She sat back down, reaching for her own glass. Her eyes darted momentarily to her work.

“Anything important?” he said, nodding at it.

She rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed. “It’s always important,” she said. “More nobles dissatisfied with the way I run things. You’d think the Siege of Amaranthine would have been enough to get them off my back.”

He nodded sympathetically. Some local nobles still weren’t happy that an Orlesian—and a young one, to boot—had taken over Vigil’s Keep.

“You know how nobles are,” he said. “Change makes them antsy. It’s thanks to all the inbreeding, I expect.” He paused. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. “I don’t want to talk about work,” she said. “You’re leaving the Keep.”

Her smile was sad. He shifted in his own chair. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “Tragic as it is.”

“We ought to have a toast,” she said.

“What should we toast to?”

She stroked her chin. “To… Anders’ future. And to staying in touch, perhaps.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They tapped their glasses and drank. She swirled the liquid thoughtfully.

“Are you all packed?” she said.

“Yes, Mother,” he said. “My pack is full of all the socks, undergarments, and erotic literature I could possibly need.”

She pursed her lips.

“Thank you for such lovely images,” she said

He raised his glass in a mock toast. She took a sip, then put her drink down and leaned forward in her chair.

“And,” she said, “what about Ser Pounce-a-Lot?”

There was concern in her voice. His casual smile faltered. “Left him in the city with a friend this afternoon.”

She sighed. “I am sorry, Anders,” she said. “I would have let you keep him, if it were up to me.”

He drank again before answering. “I know,” he said.

“Perhaps you can visit him the next time your squad comes through,” she said.

He kept his eyes on a corner of her desk. The candlelit shadows danced. “Perhaps.”

She studied his face intently.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” she said. “If you’d like to be reassigned back to Vigil’s Keep, I may still be able to pull some strings.”

“Oh, no need to do that,” he said lightly. “I’ll be fine. A charming fellow like me can always get by.”

She frowned. “Well,” she said, “I just want you to remember that you’ll always have a place here, if you want it.”

She said it casually, but there was a hard glint in her eyes that made him believe it. Not that he needed the confirmation. Not since Karl had he met anyone so determinedly on his side.

Anders’ face and the tips of his fingers were growing pleasantly warm from the wine. Her face had taken on the rosy glow he’d seen on her on the rare nights when they all went to the local tavern. He cleared his throat.

“Will you be all right?” he said. “I mean, after I’m gone. You’ll be the last one left of our little party.”

She smiled faintly, staring at the liquid still in her glass.

“That’s sweet of you to ask,” she said. “I’ll be fine, Anders.”

“Even without…?”

He stopped at the look on her face. Perhaps it would be better not to bring Nathaniel up now. He still remembered standing outside her office on the day he’d left, hearing her muffled sobs. It had been the only time he’d ever known her to cry and, Maker, coming from her it had actually scared him a little.

She drained the rest of her glass and sat back in her chair. “It’ll be strange, without all of you around,” she said.

“Oh, you’ll love it,” he said. “It’ll be quieter, certainly.”

“And more dull,” she said. “I’ll miss our chats.”

He stared at the floor, throat feeling a bit tight. He wanted to say he would miss her too, but the words were a poor representation of the depth of his feelings. She had saved him, given him a home. His stomach twisted as he remembered that, starting tomorrow, things would be back to normal. He would be alone.

Well, he reminded himself. Almost alone. But that was yet to be decided.

He looked over at her. In his silence, she’d cast her gaze out the window, staring off into the night. He cleared his throat.

“Er, Avenie,” he said.

She looked back. She’d given him permission to use her given name long ago, but he didn’t call her by it often.

“Yes?” she said.

“Actually, I’ve been wanting to ask your advice on something.”

“Hmm?”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

“The thing is,” he said, “I’ve been thinking lately about some of the things Justice said to me, how I ought to do more for other mages.” He absentmindedly tugged at his ponytail. “Lately, I can’t seem to get the idea out of my head.”

He wanted to tell her more, tell her everything. About how Justice had started appearing to him in the Fade, about their conversations. He wanted to tell her what the spirit wanted him to do. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words. He wasn’t sure if even she would support him in that.

“Why is this bothering you now, all of a sudden?” she said.

“It isn’t all of a sudden,” he said. “It’s been on my mind ever since my last conversation with him. Can I do more? Is it my duty to do more?”

He drummed his fingers against his knee.

“I was just wondering,” he said, “what you thought about it?”

His question hung in the air. The floor creaked outside her office—probably servants heading to bed for the night.

“Well,” she said. “I’m no mage. But, as someone who’s devoted herself to a life of service, I would say you should do whatever you can to help, especially if it means something to you.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “All right,” he said. “But if it were you, how far would you be willing to go?”

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, brow furrowed.

“As far as seems necessary,” she said. “But we’re speaking in the abstract, here, you understand. It would depend on the situation, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess so,” he said. She was right that they were speaking in the abstract but, in spite of that, he felt the tension that had been building up inside him for weeks start to ease at her words. If she thought that action was called for, even if she didn’t know the specifics, then maybe he was on the right path after all.

He smiled.

“Thank you,” he said.

She smiled back. “Anytime. I’m always happy to help.”

He pushed back his chair and stood. “I should probably let you get back to work.”

“Maybe.” She sighed and cast a disgusted glance at her papers. “Much as I’d rather do anything else.”

“Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow, before I leave?”

She grinned. “I’ll wave a handkerchief from the window, at the very least.”

Before he left the office, he stopped in the doorway. She was bent over her work again, a smile still plastered to her face, cheeks still rosy. He felt as though he ought to say something. It might be months before he saw her again, and that alone was bringing back the tension. The idea of her absence, of being without friends again, made him dizzy, like he was about to lose his footing and fall into the sky. He tried to memorize the image of her at her desk, the light dancing off her, one hand scribbling away, the other combing through her messy hair. So perfect. So right.

But he was being silly. He was thinking as though he would never see her again, when he knew that wasn’t true. He would be back at Vigil’s Keep before he knew it. Somehow, he would get through.

He closed the door and didn’t look back.


End file.
